


Mir Haadi Azaad

by AkelaKela



Series: Pakistani Dramas [1]
Category: Khaani, Pakistani Drama - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character rediscovering religion, Gen, Guilt, Haadi was a terrible person, Hallucinations, Islam, Muslim Character, Pakistani Dramas, Quranic verses, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Very angsty fic, a lot of feelings, but you still feel bad for him, ptsd maybe, terrible writing style, who cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:58:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkelaKela/pseuds/AkelaKela
Summary: What I imagine happened during the time leap in the last episodeorA terrible fic about Haadi's guilt





	Mir Haadi Azaad

"Main tumhe maafi de rahi hoon. Aur uske saath tumhe tumhari zindagi waapis kar rahi hoon. Kyunke main jaanti hoon tumhare liye maut aasaan hai aur zindagi mushkil hai." The tears in Khaani's eyes glittered this time in the light of the lamp swinging behind him, stonier than ever before. Dread filled Haadi's stomach, tentacles coiling through his body leeching fear into his heart.

"Arham ye kya keh rahi hai? Isko mana kardo!" He could feel the panic gripping him. "Khaani please." He sank to his knees, reaching between the bars for her feet. She stepped back and his fingers brushed nothing but the dirt on which she had been standing.

He had made peace with himself, with everything for this moment. For the sweet release of death to absolve him of his sins, for Khaani's revenge to be complete. It was selfish. Incredibly and terribly selfish before his mother's sobs and Ali’s tears but he wanted so badly to die, wanted the pain to end.

"Khaani please. Phaansi mat rukhwao please." He sobbed, the tears burning his eyes. "Arham isko bolo na. Mujhe phaansi chahiye. Meri phaansi mat rukhwao please." He watched in horror, powerless behind the iron bars between him and Khaani as her expression twisted, suddenly familiar before she flung the _maafi-nama_ at the bars, the cruel irony in no way lost on Haadi. He had been here once before. He had stood behind the bars and watched her shred the unsigned papers and hurl the pieces at him. It was so different and so hauntingly similar at the same time.

He had been so sure of himself then, assured of Sanam's obedience, of the terror he expected his name to strike in his heart. The valour he had thought so foolish now resonated, striking deep within his heart. The same papers he'd fought tooth and nail to have signed lay strewn in front of him on the cold cement floor yet again and his lungs were tearing themselves apart in sorrow. 

"Mujhe maafi nahi chahiye! Mere liye jeena bohot mushkil ho jayega! Khaani! Arham!" He raved at their turned backs, knowing full well that his words only cemented his fate and saying them anyway. His knees gave out beneath him and he sank to the cold, filthy ground, his forehead resting on the dusty bars of his cell.

 That night he ranted and raved, sure he had gone stark raving mad. He had been so close. So close to the delicious retribution he thought deserved. He beat his head on the ground before him until his face was bruised and bloodied, begging the Lord to strike him dead before the morning dawned. He couldn’t live with himself, he whispered, fingers clawing over the dusty floor as his shoulders shook. Couldn’t catch a glimpse of himself in another mirror, couldn’t look down at the two hands attached to his body, soiled with blood. His throat, hoarse and cracked only allowed a whisper past his lips when, finally spent, he lay on his back, the solitary lamp above him tipping from side to side at a drunken angle.

He wouldn't speak. Not when his mother knelt beside him the next day, her tears soaking his hair as she kissed the top of his head and clutched her to him, her chest heaving in sobs of relief. Not when Ali took him in his arms, hugging him close for longer than he ever had. It struck his numbed mind as strange, comical even. Another twist in his punishment. He was fated to mourn the loss of his death while the people he loved rejoiced the gain of his life. The rest of a long, arduous life he could see no pleasure in living. Food lay untouched in the steel tiffin beside him on the floor while his mother tried to force it between his closed lips. Even her tears failed to move him. How could she have raised her hands to pray for his destruction? For every minute of torment he had to endure? How could Ali smile as he swiped away his tears of joy?

Ali’s eyes were wet when he lifted the glass of water to Haadi’s mouth, coaxing him gently as one might a child. Haadi stared ahead, his gaze vacant while Ali pulled him forward, maneuvering him like an overgrown rag doll. He couldn’t being himself to move, unsure whether he even could. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything. 

It was _maghrib_ time when he was awoken by the _azaan_. The rich voice of the _muazzen_ carried through the tiny window set high in the wall of his grotty cell and Haadi closed his eyes. Something that had meant little to him all his life was suddenly all -mportant. Marshalling his strength, he staggered to the bucket to wash himself and performed ablution before standing for prayer. When he looked down at the grimy mat below him, his vision swam, the faded stripes blurring and melding together before his eyes. His voice shook as he muttered the words to the few _surahs_ he could remember. He barely remembered how to pray. He'd learned once, when he was a child and his mother had sent him to a short class with some other kids. He could go through the motions properly, at least.The shame made his cheeks hot. He couldn't even pray for forgiveness properly.

It was only in _sajda_ that the tears fell. His shoulders heaved and the tears streamed down his face. No matter how much he cried, the tears never ended.

There were always more tears left to cry. His prayers were garbled by the sobs wracking his chest and his vision wheeled from side to side when he turned to end his _namaz_. The wall of the jail cell was cold against the back his head. He closed his eyes, his lashes gummed together by crusted salt.

"Mujhe maaf karden. Ey Allah mujhe maaf karden. Bohot zulm kiya maine. Mujhe maaf karden." He whispered, his cracked lips barely moving. 

_It might have been minutes or hours before he opened his eyes, but when he did he wasn't alone. Mir Haadi jumped to his feet, his head light. He gripped the wall for support as the man before him stared into his eyes. Haadi blinked once, twice, beset by dizziness._

_"Sarim..." He looked just as he had that day. His blue checked shirt carefully pressed, sleeves rolled neatly up to the elbows. He looked mildly annoyed, his brow twisted. He just stood there for several seconds, staring into Haadi's eyes. Was that a question Haadi could see in those round brown eyes? He stepped closer, his fingers slipping from the wall, a thin film of dust coating them._

_Before his eyes, Sarim was flung backward by some invisible force, the bone of his knee exploding outwards. He clutched at his leg, staring, his mouth open in shock. Haadi staggered back as it dawned on him. He could do nothing but watch the bullets hit Sarim first in the shoulder, then low in the ribs. He flopped like fish out of water, his entire body convulsing every time he was shot. His hand snapped to his chest when his flesh and blood was laid bare by the final shot. The blood seeping from his wounds spread quickly around him, threading through the cracks in the cobblestones and puddling around his shoulders and head._

_He turned, mouth open in pain as his laboured breathing passed in and out of his trembling lips. His bloodstained fingers stretched out towards the ringing phone, sliding across the ground painfully slowly, trembling with the effort. Haadi didn't have to look at the flashing screen to know who's name would appear on the display. It could have been no other. Sarim lay there, twitching on the ground for several agonising minutes before his chest stopped heaving and he was completely still. His eyes were turned skywards, open and so empty._

 Mir Haadi stretched out a hand, snatching it back when he caught sight of the blood dripping off his fingertips. He bought his hands up to his face, turning them palm up and then examining their backs. Red dripped down between his fingers, crusted in the beds of his nails. An inhuman shriek left him as he scrubbed his hands against each other, smearing the blood down his arms. It seemed to have seeped into his every pore, staining his skin for all to see. 

Sarim's blood soaked into the water in the bucket when he plunged his hands into it, the water splashing all over him, glueing the thin fabric of his clothes to his skin. He washed, scraping his nails into his skin over and over again, but more and more blood filtered into the water, tinting it a deep pink.

"Nahi. Nahi." He muttered, his swollen eyes glaring at his trembling hands. 

"Kya huwa Haadi?" The cell door clanged shut behind Ali and Haadi turned, startling his friend. His overgrown hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead, the front of his _kurta_ soaked by the water he'd spilled on himself and the floor. Ali stepped forward cautiously, an unreadable look glinting in his eyes.

"Ali, dekho naa. Mere haath saaf hi nahi hote." Mir Haadi whined pathetically. Ali's eyes closed for a moment as he attempted to quell the tide of emotion rising within him.

"Tumhare haath saaf hain." Ali kneeled before him, on one knee and took his hands in his. He winced, cupping the scratched and bleeding skin gently. His voice was evenly measured and blinked several times, vowing not to let his own tears fall. "Idhar ao." He tugged gently on Haadi's hands, pulling him away from the bucket. Haadi stood, his legs unsteady under him. He took two steps before pitching sideways and would have fallen if Ali hadn't caught him. Clumsily, he was lowered to the floor.

"Haadi? **Haadi!** " His head lolled from side to side when Ali smacked his face and his eyes stared ahead glassily, almost through his friend. 

Mir Haadi awoke on a hospital bed with a drip line in his arm, with two bandaged hands and a pair of handcuffs chaining him to his bed. He ignored the doctor as he explained to his distraught mother that there was nothing to worry about, that it was just dehydration and malnourishment and fatigue, that when he had some rest and food he would be fine. Ali looked at him, tears pricking his eyes. A harsh pang of sorrow struck him in the gut whenever he saw his best friend. He never smiled, his sunken eyes listlessly staring blankly ahead, as though searching for some distant thought that he could never grasp. He watched Haadi's eyes flutter closed. The fingers of his right hand twitched , the drip line taped to the back of it shifting slightly atop the bleached hospital bedding. Gingerly, he took it in his, sandwiching the cold, stiff fingers between his own. His head dropped and he closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer to the lord. He scoffed at himself. He didn't even know what he was seeking, sending his wordless plea to the heavens. A broken man lay before him, his heart and soul shattered completely by crushing guilt and his burning desire to pay for his crimes. 

 _'Bohot takleef mein hoon. Apko tau khush hona chahiye. Apki aulaad ko is takleef se nijaat mil raha hai.'_ He had said. It seemed like so long ago, Aunty begging him not to go, Ali standing by the wall, mutely, helpless to stop the hanging. Haadi had sounded so blissful, so at peace then.

Haadi returned to the jail less than a day later. The prison transport van was covered in dust. Everything around him was always covered in dust nowadays. His clothes, wrinkled were perpetually stained with the dust that always stained. It didn't really matter to him anymore. The expensive clothes and flashy cars he used to take joy in seemed worlds away. 

He shuffled into the prison, the ill-fitting sandals cutting into the dry skin of his feet. He'd truly fallen low, he thought, staring down at his stained, threadbare _kameez_. And he deserved it too. He didn't even deserve to die. He deserved the long, painful existence stretching out in front of him.

Ali stayed with him until visiting hours were over, trying mostly unsuccessfully to get him to eat something. He ate a few bites in the end, to get Ali to stop his incessant nagging. Every bite stuck in his throat. Then Ali left, with promises to return as soon as possible and Mir Haadi was alone again. Night fell, freezing the concrete walls of his cell, the single bulb flickering overhead. 

Haadi traced the pages of the _Quran_. They were old and more than a little tattered, so he flipped them gently, his recitation soft and halting. He squinted at the flowing _Arabic_  script painting the yellowed pages. It was painstakingly slow and frustrating to get through just a page but he powered through. The _surahs_ at the end were shorter and easier to recite so he read them over and over again. He was thankful for the translation, printed in cramped _Urdu_ text in the margins. Mostly, he cried when read.

"Indeed, We have warned you of a near punishment on the Day when a man will observe what his hands have put forth and the disbeliever will say, 'Oh, I wish that I were dust!'"

(Surah Naba: 40)

How would he stand before his Lord on that day? With blood staining his hands and soul? With Sarim standing there, accusing him of the crime he'd committed? Would Sarim appear with the bleeding wounds Haadi had inflicted on him? How long would he spend burning in the fire of hell, how many times would he be burning and resurrected again before he was absolved of his sins? Would he ever be cleansed?

Some verses were comforting, reminding him of forgiveness and repentance.

"And He is the Forgiving, the Affectionate."

(Suraj Burooj: 14)

It was hard not to lose hope sometimes. This was her ultimate revenge, he knew. Lying on the floor of his cell, the crawling minutes slowly driving him insane, Mir Haadi knew that he deserved his punishment. 

_"Haadi?" He turned, the wind whipping the fallen leaves off the ground. He knew this place. This clearing in the trees. His escape into fantasy. His retreat of brief respite from the outside world. Sarim was there, this time dressed in white shalwar-kameez, contrasting the Haadi's black attire._

_Words raced through his mind, apologies crowding for space on his tongue, jostling to be the first to leave his mouth. But all Haadi could do was stand, tongue-tied as he stared at the dead man before him. Sarim's light hair was brushed neatly back from his face, his eyes the same deep brown as his sister's. He stared into Haadi's eyes for a long time, a look of unmistakeable sorrow clouding his face. When he spoke, it was a single word that made Haadi want to crumble into nothing._

_"Kyun?" He asked, tears filling his eyes._

Haadi awoke on the cold floor, tears streaming down his face, his heart breaking again. His nights trickled by in a similar pattern. He'd drift off to sleep only to wake hours later locked in paroxysms of guilt.

_He hated this dream; the memory on of the most shameful that his mind thrust him into on a regular basis. Khaani walked through the door, her hair damp from the rain pattering down outside. He remembered the look on her face the minute she saw him sprawled arrogantly on the sofa._

_"Tum yahan kya kar rahe ho?" She demanded, the anger making her voice brittle and sharp, like shards of broken glass crunching underfoot. He smiled. Her brave front would crack soon, one way or another._

_"Baba papers sign nahi karenge!" She said, dashing the unsigned documents to the floor. Haadi watched himself kick the coffee table, bend and deliberately pick them up._

_"Kya bola?" He yelled, grabbing her arm and dragging her away from her father. This was when most people's faces usually went white and they started begging for their lives._ _But Sanam Khan wasn't most people._

_"Baba papers sign nahi karenge!" She repeated even louder, her voice breaking._

_Haadi had pressed the muzzle of the pistol to her forehead. She blinked, watching silently as her mother signed the maafi-naama. The blood drained from her face and he could see her finally breaking. She barely even seemed to notice when her father collapsed._

_"Haadi azaad." He whispered, looking to her. He'd never seen that look on anyone's face before. It was an expression of absolute desolation, of the grief of defeat._

_"Mir Haadi azaad!" He roared, rubbing her face in her defeat and she snapped._

_"Tum azaad hoke bhi barbaad hoge! Yeh ek behen ki bad dua hai. Bad dua hai!" She cursed, falling to her knees in defeat, sobs shaking her entire body. He had heard her wails as he left and had wondered fleetingly who Sarim had been, because he'd never seen someone so devastated by losing anyone before. He also remembered that he hadn't particularly cared._

Haadi woke drenched in cold sweat. He'd never know who Sarim Ali Khan was or who he could have been. Because he was dead and nothing on earth could ever bring him back. Because he had killed him and no one would ever see him again. Because he would lie beneath the ground until it was time for Haadi to pay his dues.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sue me but Mir Haadi deserved what he got. Just saying. Acha hai ke tauba kiya but still.


End file.
